


Saint Francis With Love

by firewalkwme



Series: Hannigram D/s [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Grooming, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Mental Health Issues, Psychosis, Sex Work, Slow Burn, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, and by slow burn i mean they burn each others' lives to the ground
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-07-30 04:02:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firewalkwme/pseuds/firewalkwme
Summary: Hannibal frequents a department store that is fronting for an exclusive BDSM dungeon. Will just happens to be an unwitting employee at this store. Hannibal is unwilling to let go of this opportunity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> i just needed to get this chapter out there. i’ve been sitting on this forever.

When the man with the name tag that says “Will” asks, “Do you want the hangers off?”, Hannibal realizes he’s been staring.

Mind you, Hannibal does not stare. Especially not at the cashier at the men’s department store he visits at least once a month. There is no logical reason to do so. This man, with his gaze drawn to the floor and short, scratchy beard, has an appalling sense of customer service. This man, with his black polo and khakis, his smudged glasses, his greasy hair. His lack of care as he shoves these shirts, shirts he can barely afford to look at, into an ornate paper bag.

It’s almost rude.

Hannibal is enthralled.

“Will?” he asks, before he can stop himself.

“Huh?” He stops shoving the shirts and turns to stare at him, the customer. Nothing more.

There are many things he could say, but he decides on, “Care with the shirts, please.” Will blushes, an outstandingly red streak across his cheeks, and mumbles something akin to a “Yes, sir.” It sends chills down Hannibal’s spine to hear a man like this call him “sir”; a man so clearly lackadaisical and uncaring. He’s made the impression he often makes - that of a man worth listening to.

He wants desperately to make this man listen to him.

..

When Hannibal comes back, it’s under a completely different pretext. He walks directly to the counter where Will stands, looking bored. He slides a red poker chip across the counter, which the man pockets and turns toward the back of the store wordlessly. Hannibal follows, curious by the nonchalance of the exchange.

Will slowly moves to the door behind the register and inserts an ornate key. The doctor follows and nods as Will holds the door for him. The heavy door slams shut behind them as they move through a suspiciously silent hallway. Soundproof walls, he suspects.

They reach the curtain at the end of the hallway. He has to ask.

“You do know what this room is...?”

“I’d always assumed it was a front for a drug deal.” he chokes out a laugh. “I’m former law enforcement. Not that you could tell.”

“And you left?”

“Failed the psych eval. Turns out temporary encephalitis and permanent psychosis make for bad police work.”

Hannibal is thrilled. He imagines this man sitting in a chair in his office, squirming with discomfort. It’s enough to make him shift his weight to his other foot.

“Have you ever been curious about what lies beyond that red curtain?” Hannibal points a carefully manicured finger towards said curtain, leading into yet another back room. 

Will is desperately avoiding eye contact. He’s beginning to notice that this is one of his defining traits. “I guess?” he chokes out. 

Hannibal gestures with his head towards the curtain and then strides through it. Will awkwardly shuffles behind him. Hannibal imagines him wondering what in Sam Hill he’s getting himself into and chuckles inwardly. An innocent little lamb, he is. The perfect Will he has created in his mind is, at least.

They enter the room and their eyes immediately begin to adjust to the harsh lighting. The lights overhead are almost fit for a theatre stage, but they’ve been dimmed just enough for appropriate ambiance. The walls are ornately decorated with tastefully gruesome paintings and shelves holding sexual instruments of various sorts.

There’s a moment where he could hear a pin drop, even through the chatter of the people in the room. This was quite possibly a terrible idea. 

Will laughs nervously. “Yeah, I… I appreciate the heads up. This isn’t really what I expected to be… back here…” his eyes wander to a rack on the wall, then quickly dart to the floor. Beads of sweat are starting to form on his forehead. “I’m going to go now. Uh… have fun?” Will winces, just barely.

As he turns for the door, Hannibal finds himself grabbing his arm. Will swivels back around and sends Hannibal a look that shows that this was clearly the wrong decision. Hannibal’s grip turns to jelly and his arm drops to the floor. Fast as a shot, Will exits the room, curtain billowing behind him.

Surely there was a better way that could have gone. Especially in front of Hannibal’s rich and kinky friends. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my paragraphs are so short wtf

The next time he sees Will is an accident. He’s at the rather expensive coffee shop he frequents (they roast their own beans, which is a huge compliment to the flavor profile). He has a sampler of new varieties in front of him.

He’s actually thinking about how Will likes his coffee (of course he drinks it, his dark circles are almost a fashion statement) when he spots him across the room. Mopping the floor.

His first thought is to approach him, but he quickly thinks twice. It would clearly come off as more than an accident if he were to come up to him at what is presumably his second job. He briefly wonders if he quit his job at the department store after the incident between them the month before.

Another thing he notices: Will is somehow put together. Even with his baggy eyes and mussed hair, his shirt is ironed and tucked in to his khakis. He feels like he’s looking at a different person. Perhaps he feels more comfortable at this job - or feels the need to impress? Once again he finds himself wishing to get into this boy’s mind.

Then Will drops his mop.

He stumbles, quickly grabbing the counter behind him. Hannibal is up in a second, unable to suppress the doctor in him for the sake of avoiding embarrassment of all things. His mind quickly turns to Will’s mentioning of his past encephalitis. It seems highly likely that he is having a seizure.

By the time he makes it to the other side of the store, Will is behind the counter. He’s not frozen in place; that’s a good sign. When he approaches, Will’s eyes are glassy.

He wastes no time. “Are you having a seizure?”

Will doesn’t seem to recognize him; it’s a possibility that his vision is obscured by a seizure aura. “Y…y-yeah.” he stutters.

“I’m a doctor.” It seems like the right thing to say. “Do you have a place in the building that’s quieter that you can go to?”

“The break room.” he chokes out. “Will you help me get there if I tell you where it is?”

“Of course.”

“The door is right behind you. First door on the left once you get in the hallway.” Hannibal takes hold of his arm and they slowly make their way to the door. Someone that looks like the manager starts to walk over.

“Everything alright over here, Will?”

“Had a seizure. He’s a doctor. I’m gonna take my 15 early.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll cover.” Hannibal takes that as his cue to open the door and shuffle Will the rest of the way to the break room. He pulls out a chair and guides him to sit, then takes a seat across from him at the plastic table.

“Thanks. For, uh, not pulling the chair out from under me.” Will chuckles. In that moment, it’s the most precious thing Hannibal has ever heard. “I mean, I would have been fine. But I still appreciate it.”

“I cannot stress enough how important it is that you take some time out after a seizure. It doesn’t matter how benign it seems. That could have been so much worse.”

“I know how bad it can get. I had encephalitis, which is about as bad as bad can get. Really, really ba-“ he breaks off and squints. “I know you.”

“And I know you. It seemed rude to mention it.”

“From… from the department store.” Will seems to have thoughts he’d rather not have. His hands are intertwined on the table. Hannibal imagines handcuffs on those fragile wrists.

“Yes, from the department store. I regret that our last meeting was not under the most pleasant of circumstances.”

Will is making the exact opposite of eye contact. “I mean, yeah. Kind of made it hard to finish my shift.”

“I imagine so.” Hannibal has never felt like a creep. Not for a second, even with all of the depraved sexual acts he has undertaken. He feels himself getting close to that territory the longer this conversation continues. He just can’t make himself leave and return to his damned coffee samples. Not quite yet.

“So it’s, uh… some sex club? For rich people?” A flash of panic comes across his face. “Fuck, I - I shouldn’t have asked that.”

“It’s fine.” Hannibal has a hint of authority in his voice, but it’s gentle. He can’t help himself but let himself have this small luxury. “I’ll answer any questions you have. It’s not fair for you to be left in the dark about this.”

“But do I want to know?”

“That is entirely your decision. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable at work.” Or maybe he does.

“O - okay. I’ll ask a few questions and then get back to work.”

Hannibal leans back in his chair as if to say, “shoot”. As if he’d ever say that.

“So, like… do you pay? Is it a membership thing?”

“I do pay by the month, yes. We all do, to both the department store and our private pool of money that goes towards upkeep of the dungeon.”

“Who is ‘we’? Rich perverts?” He pauses. “Sorry.”

“No offense taken. It’s as accurate of a moniker as any.” Hannibal’s smile feels a little less plastic than usual. “But you’re basically correct. It would be quite the scandal if word got out about our… community.”

“Well shit, is the mayor in it or something?”

“I pray not tell.” Hannibal smirks. Will looks genuinely shocked by this little joke. “This is your second job, correct?”

“Yeah. Thinking about getting a third. I have five dogs and home and they’re too spoiled for cheap food.”

“I have some advice for you, but only if it’s solicited.”

“Go ‘head.” Will seems tense.

“You could make a lot of money doing the types of things that other men do in our dungeon. And you wouldn’t have to go through the vetting process - you already have. Just a simple STD test would be enough.”

He stops when he sees the expression of Will’s face.

Will shakes his head and laughs uncomfortably. “I really don’t know what your deal is with me, man. I… I feel like you’re coming on to me? I really can’t tell.” He stands. Hannibal quickly mimics. “But whatever it is, I really don’t think I’m your type. I forget to shower sometimes. I have dog hair on all of my clothes. I make less than 50k a year. I don’t have rich friends - I don’t even have fucking friends. For - for Christ’s sake, I wouldn’t look respectable in an Applebee’s.”

Will suddenly looks more mortified than he already did, if that’s even possible. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

Then, a realization.

“You’re a shrink.”

“That I am. But I’m not your psychiatrist. I’m not going to pick your brain.” Liar, he thinks to himself.

“I haven’t actually been to a psychiatrist since I was given the all clear for my encephalitis. I, uh… don’t like doctors.” He makes a second of eye contact before turning again. “No offense.”

“None taken,” Hannibal offers, smoothing out his shirt. “But I mean what I said. You could quit this job if you wanted to.”

“I like this job.” Will’s eyebrow crinkles. “They give me free coffee. And I don’t even have to have sex for it.”

“You’d get a lot more than free coffee with this arrangement. At the very least, one thousand dollars per appointment. And the tips would likely be generous. You’re a handsome man, Will. You have an undeniable aesthetic appeal.”

Will definitely thinks he’s a creep now if he didn’t already. It’s all over the crinkles of his eyes. “I can’t do this. I can’t. Not now and not ever.

“But… but I am desperate for money. If I can’t find a third job soon, I’m going to have to put the dogs up for adoption. And that’s game over for me. I’d officially have nothing.”

“Then let me help you get a foot in the door. Just a simple favor, nothing more. You’ll owe me nothing and I’ll expect nothing.”

Will laughs because it’s likely the only thing his mouth can do. “I cannot fucking believe I’m considering being a prostitute.”

“Sex worker.” Hannibal corrects. He has more respect for them than he does for most of the people he meets in professional settings.

“A whore, basically. If people found out… I mean, who would find out. My dogs?”

“What you do for money is your business.” Hannibal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a business card. “Here. Give me a call if you decide that you’re interested.”

Will pockets it without looking at it. “You should probably leave our break room now.”

As Hannibal returns to his tepid coffee, he recalls that Will had a seizure about 20 minutes ago.


	3. Chapter 3

Hannibal is a patient man.

He expects to wait for months on end for a response; this does not bother him at all. Psychologists are generally patient individuals, he observes. It takes a long time for patients to open up. In a way, Will is like a patient to him. Or perhaps a lab rat.

He finds Will’s LinkedIn (a slightly embarrassingly bare account), and then his Facebook. There are a few posts from family members and old friends, but Will doesn’t seem to respond to any of them. He’s a detached individual, he observes. Most likely a tough nut to crack; perhaps he’s been hurt in the past. In retrospect, he saw it in the way he kept Hannibal at arm’s length throughout their entire exchange at the coffee shop. Almost any other person having a seizure would have made someone aware - not him. And even when Hannibal did offer help, he didn’t seem to be entirely comfortable with it. “I don’t like doctors”, he said.

The lack of care for himself. His tendency to stay away from anyone that might even remotely be a threat. Even his past career choice. They all scream that he’s a person that would be difficult to manipulate.

And yet… he has no support structure. No reference for what he could possibly be getting himself into. And if he learns to trust Hannibal. If it’s possible. It could mean a lot of good for what he’s looking for.

Hannibal is not sure how to articulate what it is he’s looking for. But there’s a high probability that it will put Will in some uncomfortable positions.

He’s willing to make that sacrifice on Will’s behalf.

…

Will’s opened up a bottle of Jack and is sitting on his balcony. He used to have a front porch, but that was a different time and place. Now he makes do.

The dogs had a harder time adjusting than he did. Will’s used to moving around by now. Being the son of a fisherman meant going where there was work - he’s spent time in a lot of places on the southern coast. He learned a little Spanish along the way, most of which he forgot. But the dogs didn’t have that experience. The dilapidated house outside of Wolf Trap was all they knew, and now that was gone. Bulldozed to make room for a fracking project. Out of work and out of a home, Will relocated to Baltimore. Where he ended up was a bit of a dump, but not the worst dump he’d been in.

Finding work was easy. Keeping it was a bit harder. Public transportation is expensive, and walking isn’t always an option. He’s constantly at the mercy of forces out of his control - the landlord, the manager, the fucks that give him his health insurance. Them most of all.

It would be so nice to have the money. It could mean so much to his dogs. And maybe even himself.

But at what cost? He did some googling. Apparently there are a lot of rules that go with this sort of thing. Rules for safety, rules for consent. All the buzzwords started to make his head spin. He didn’t want to have to buy a textbook just to become a prostitute.

He just couldn’t have said no, could he. He went ahead and asked that rich doctor those questions. Hannibal. Like the general, or the comedian. Probably the general.

Will knows he’s been letting himself slip. He doesn’t refill his meds half the time. He has nightmares, sometimes he sees things at the corners of his vision. His thoughts - they’re in different directions all the time. It’s exhausting. He has a half-full bottle of Xanax in the back of his pantry from those early days of pain from encephalitis. The temptation to take a couple and sit on his couch is very difficult to ignore most of the time. And whiskey - another vice. But they make life bearable.

Ultimately, getting into this world would be risky business. When he’s half out of his mind how can he get himself out of a bad situation?

‘Story of my life’, he thinks to himself. He adapts. It’s what Grahams do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing this story fuckin hurts me. bad memories and shit. but it does make me feel better. haha that makes no sense


End file.
